


A Bunny Amidst Wolves

by darkrose921



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:45:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose921/pseuds/darkrose921
Summary: Under the internship of Dr. Angela Ziegler, you cross paths with a notorious figure. What begins as innocent admiration soon progresses into something more.





	A Bunny Amidst Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> I had a really bad desire to write a moira x reader fic, so here it is! never written one of these before so feedback is appreciated! thank you for reading and enjoy! ;)

You’re extremely hesitant to disturb her, your body tenses up just thinking about it. She’s hard at work, probably neck-deep in groundbreaking discoveries you couldn’t comprehend even if you tried, yet here you are. A burden imminent, lingering outside her lab door. You would have never, ever mustered up the courage to approach Dr. O’Deorain at her office, her personal space. However, the fluffy critter in your grasp, nuzzling away at the flimsy cotton material of your shirt had stowed away from the doctor’s possession. And you felt all too inclined to return it to its rightful owner. 

 

You stare down at the bunny with furrowed brows and a frown. It’s a cute little thing, and you wonder how frightened it must’ve been. Or how it managed to escape and waddle over to the break room. You wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been for your clumsiness when dropping your pen during your absent-minded doodling. You had leaned down to retrieve it and instantaneously locked eyes with the white fluff ball. 

 

Naturally, you knew it belonged to the doctor, for she was the only one who ever fiddled with livestock and experimentation. Your mentor, Dr. Ziegler, whom you interned for, had informed you of Dr. O’Deorain’s contributions to Overwatch. Some of the things Dr. Ziegler mentioned about O’Deorain was...intriguing. Her methodology seemed so ambiguous and captivating. You became fascinated with little to no information on this woman. You knew close to nothing about her yet, she still found a way to capture your interest. You were always drawn to the eccentric ones, the outsiders. O’Deorain was definitely amongst the most fitting members of Overwatch to occupy that list. 

 

You had only seen her leave her office once or twice, but even her appearance was a sight to behold. Everything from her face to her clothing had a long lasting entrancement. And god, was she intimidating. Gorgeous, stoic, and so frightfully confident it made this particular task standardly impossible. 

 

You breathe hard and long, until the air occupying your lungs hurts your chest. You exhale, a bit noisily, and the rabbit nibbles on your thumb. You swat it’s bucked teeth away and clutch it against your ribs, with enough force to keep it from trying to get away. You lift your head up and stare at the lab door, almost challengingly. You’re aware that if you step just an inch closer, the motion sensor will detect you and the door would slide open. At that point, there would be no going back. 

 

You briefly consider dropping the animal at the foot of the door and running away, but you kind of want to feel brave. You know you’re not though. But it’s nice to fake it sometimes. 

 

With your newly festered bravado, you take the step forward and just as anticipated, the lab door sways open with a swish. You’re hit with sounds of beeping technology, flickering lights from monitors and a plethora of (to your surprise) pleasant smells. 

 

Your heart races, and you know the bunny can feel it too. You idly pet its fur as you ease your way into the lab, timidly. 

 

You scan the room, your eyes get overwhelmed with the high tech equipment that’s around you. You’re simultaneously trying to take in your surroundings and locate the doctor’s whereabouts. You figure it’s impossible to with how you’ve barely taken two steps into the lab. 

 

At last you catch sight of vibrant tangerine hair, huddled over in the far right of the lab. Hidden by test tubes and beacons. She hasn’t even noticed your intrusion and you curse inwardly. Your anxiety portrays in your hand, and the little pest in your arms suffers from it. You tap insistently against the animal’s coat. You’re going to have to call out for her attention, and you accept this. Albeit reluctantly. You swallow the thick lump that snuck its way in your throat. 

 

“Ex-excuse me?” You croak, but it’s barely audible with the bubbling of liquids and whirring of machines. 

 

You try again. “Excuse me, Doctor?” 

 

She whips her head up at this. Alarm written over her pale features, before any vulnerability is replaced with a hardened, questioning glare. 

 

“Is there something I can assist you with?” She asks, her tone is agitated and you visibly shrink. But the way her words bleed, coated with that subtle Irish accent of hers makes your heart bounce and your mouth go dry. 

 

You forget why you’re there. “Uh...yes, I Uhm...” 

 

Her brows raise as she addresses your purpose there. 

 

“Is that one of mine?” 

 

She’s pointing at you and you look down. You feel incredibly stupid and embarrassed when you stare at the bunny.  _How could you forget the reason you came, (y/n)?_

She rises from her seat, and you gape. You knew she was tall, but being this near her, you’re _really_ able to admire the fact. She’s long and elegant and you abashedly stare as she makes her way toward you. 

 

“Yes, I found this little guy out and about,” you chuckle nervously, extending your hands out. 

 

Your hands aren’t shaking too bad, and you surprise yourself with how collected sounding your reply came out. 

 

The doctor is near now, and you panic a bit. You can’t make eye contact but you know she’s staring you down. Her eyes are the type of eyes that trap you in place and make you feel uneasy and safe at the same time. Not to mention the irises are wildly different colors. One a blood red, the other a blue so light it reminds you of the sky. 

 

You muster up the courage to stare at them, and you easily become transfixed. 

 

The doctor lazily roams your face before directing her attention at the mammal. She reaches for it. 

 

“May I?” She politely asks.

 

She’s ridiculously courteous and for some reason it doesn’t really surprise you. It was very suiting, you thought. She carried herself too primly to not exude anything but poshness.  

 

Her hands are slender and lengthy, like her body. They’re sealed by fitted gloves however, and you notice this as you hand her the bunny. 

 

She cradles the creature, with a fond gentleness you didn’t expect and she reaches for a tag on the bunny’s floppy ear. 

 

“Ah,” she nods. “This one is the troublemaker of the group.” 

 

She turns and walks to the row of perfectly aligned animal cages in the center of the lab.  

 

You watch her as she opens the one empty cage and places the rabbit back inside. When she closes it the animal immediately begins chewing away at a lettuce leaf. 

 

The doctor locks the cage and you find yourself enthralled by the way her movements flow. She’s doing nothing extravagant, but you can’t help but marvel at how her long limbs bend and how she handles things so delicately and precise. Oh, and the way her face rests while in concentration really is _lovely._

 

You look goofy just standing there, staring blankly at her but you can’t help it. There’s just something about her...

 

“You’re new here, are you?” 

 

Her voice pulls you out of a daze and you don’t think the doctor is inherently interested with you, rather she’s a naturally curious person seeking answers for anything and everything.

 

She looks at you only momentarily before she gazes down to her hands where she removes each glove gingerly. She makes a show of it, or maybe everything she does just seems so marvelous to you. 

 

Either way, you find your voice to reply. 

 

“Yeah, I started here two weeks ago. I work under Dr. Ziegler’s division.” 

 

“Oh?” She blinks. “Two weeks, you say?” 

 

You nod.

 

“I must’ve not seen you around then.” 

 

You force a weak smile. You realize how minuscule you are in a top notch organization such as Overwatch, even more so because you only play the role of an assistant. You deduce she hasn’t seen you because she’s too important for you, there’s no need for her to ever cross your path. 

 

“Well, I’m pretty insignificant here when there’s people like you roaming the halls.” 

 

You stiffen and you clench your jaw. Your heart plummets because as soon as the words leave your mouth, you regret it. You’re afraid she took that as an insult with the way her eyes narrow and head tilts. 

 

“ _People like me?_ ” 

 

You call yourself an idiot and you believe it. You can’t even compliment people without fucking it up. 

 

You stutter. “I-I...Didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that...you all are just so intelligent and ambitious. _You_ especially are just... _wow._ ”

 

It’s not any better, you sound like a babbling fool. And the way you attempted to compliment her a second time makes you cringe. 

 

The look on Dr. O’Deorain’s face appears amused. She’s smirking, her lips thin and tight. 

 

You shake your head, it feels heavy and hot. You’re trying your best not to dash out of there from the sheer embarrassment, but you manage to formulate a sentence. 

 

“I should leave you to your work. Sorry for interrupting!” 

 

You quickly pivot on your feels and make for the door. 

 

“G _o raibh maith agat.”_  You hear her say behind you. 

 

You’re standing at the doorway and you peek over your shoulder. “Huh?”

 

“That’s “ _thank you”_ , darling.” 

 

God, you feel more foolish than ever. You’re sure you’ve heard that phrase before, you could’ve easily put together context clues and figured that one out, but you didn’t. 

 

“Oh,” you reply. “Right. No problem, doctor.” 

 

And you leave before any further blunders can occur.

 

The rest of your shift is hazy and goes by quickly. Dr. Ziegler was absent for most of it so you weren’t subjected to any unwanted human interaction. Your session with Dr. O’Deorain alone was enough to keep you away from further socializing that day. 

 

You go home with a clouded mind and confused feelings. You sleep that night with a certain red-headed doctor enticing your thoughts. 

 

 

—-

 

 

 

The next day, you don’t speak much. You walk to work against the crisp winter air. When you’re filing papers and answering phone calls you feel robotic, almost like everything you do is artificial. When Dr. Ziegler asks you what’s wrong, you lie. 

 

“Oh, I’m fine!” You wear a mask of deceit, your smile unnerving.

 

Dr. Ziegler isn’t one to fall for such poor fabrications. She throws you a look, her lip curving to the side. The blonde hair in her loose pony tail falls and rests at her shoulder. 

 

“(Y/n), are you feeling ill? Perhaps you should take a break.” 

 

You pout at the suggestion because you know work is the only thing that’s able to distract you from your nagging thoughts. Your boss notices this and lifts a hand knowingly. 

 

“Doctor’s orders,” she adds playfully. And you roll your eyes with an accompanying warm smile. 

 

Dr. Ziegler had once enraptured your pique of interest. She was picturesquely perfect, the softest face, the deepest eyes you could lose yourself in. A heart of gold and the voice of an angel. But there were rumors of the gorgeous doctor already belonging to someone else. And the last thing you wanted to do was step on anybody’s toes. Especially the ones of a valiant Egyptian soldier. The two were the embodiment of a power couple though. 

 

Still, Dr. Ziegler never failed to make you blush with how caring she was. 

 

You sigh with defeat as you collect your things. 

 

“You win,” you say in mock disappointment. You stand at equal height with the doctor and she rests her hand on your shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze.

 

“Maybe even take a quick power nap, you’re looking awfully tired today.”

 

 She lifts a finger under your eyes and almost pets you there. You’re assuming the gesture is referencing the dark circles you no doubt know lay there. 

 

You nod your affirmation against her soft finger and she tenderly cups your cheek. You stare at her, your gratefulness is apparent in your eyes. And hers gleam with something you can’t recognize. 

 

Her smile melts your heart. “Good,” she says with pride. 

 

Her hand wanders to your forearm and she pats you in dismissal. “Go now, I’m giving you an hour.” 

 

You murmur your thanks before being effectively scooted out of her lab. 

 

You find yourself drawn to the break room again. Even though you have free will to travel outside for lunch, or could even go home to nap, you choose to stay within the prestigious halls of Overwatch. You love being there, you feel important among all of the scientists, prodigies, and geniuses. 

 

Any other day the break room would have felt like home, your safe place. But as soon as your round the corner and walk right in, you stop dead in your tracks. 

 

There stands Dr. O’Deorain, head to the ceiling, eyes closed and her jaw contracting as she chews on an apple. Her side is facing you. You can’t help but notice she’s out of her uniform. Stripped from her lab coat you’re able to fully see her stylish attire; a black button up blouse topped with a bright red tie. Her pants are a dull khaki and on any other person you would have found them atrocious, but the fact that Dr. O’Deorain inhabited them made the pants look fantastic. 

 

One of her hands was stuffed in a pocket while the other held the apple up near her mouth. It just hovers there as she seems pretty concentrated on really tasting the bits in her mouth. One of her eyes flutters open and you swiftly avert your gaze. 

 

“Look who it is,” she drawls. But you don’t miss her frisky tone. 

 

She lowers her head and leans against the table beneath her. 

 

Your heart rate picks up just being in her presence. 

 

You greet her sheepishly, as you rest your things on the opposing table. 

 

“Good afternoon, Dr. O’Deorain,” you say,  nothing more than a whisper. But she heard you. 

 

She waves an arm dismissively. 

 

“Please, just “ _Moira”_. I’m old enough as it is, I don’t need to be reminded.” 

 

You repeat her name in her head but you only hear her voice. You wonder how it sounds rolling off your lips. But you’re momentarily taken aback. Her statement had implied she was old, but to you, she didn’t look a day over 30. 

 

“Old?” You mimic, your face reveals your confusion. 

 

She quirks a brow, it looks like she’s curious. 

 

“48 years, dear.” 

 

She had disclosed that information rather unashamedly, and you wonder if she trusts you. But your mouth drops regardless, and you don’t hesitate before speaking. 

 

“Wow. Well, you definitely don’t look it,” you say and you worry you’re being too forward. 

 

But she chuckles, a sound so rare yet so melodic you’d love to hear it more often. You’re late in your reaction, but the way she addresses you makes your knees weak. However, you can’t help but think she calls everyone “dear.” 

 

She tuts, “Flattery will get you no where.” 

 

That makes you defensive and your voice shrieks. “No no, I mean it!”

 

You catch your own shrill voice and clear your throat before it can scare your company away. 

 

She only shakes her head with a crooked smile before taking another bite from her apple. 

 

Moira chews leisurely again, and you stand in silence. When she’s done she licks her already wet lips and you have to pretend your interest is with the sleeve of your sweater.  

 

“How is Angela treating you?” Moira breaks the silence. 

 

For a moment, you have to search your thoughts for the person with that name. You recall it’s Dr. Ziegler’s, for countless times she had urged you to address her that way, though you never did. You blink rapidly for you’re not sure you understand Moira’s tone. 

 

“Very well,” you state confidently. “I adore working for her.” 

 

 

She nods as if she had been expecting that response. She runs her free hand through her fiery hair, you bet it’s soft, oh so luscious. Your hands crave to do the same, but they remain underneath your folded arms against your chest. 

 

She managed to finish off the fruit while you weren’t paying attention and she strides to the garbage bin right beside the exit. She promptly disposes of the apple’s core and steps outside to leave.

 

You stand there extremely disappointed before a last second order fills your ears. 

 

“Come,” she calls out behind her. And she’s already making her way back to her lab. You’re hesitant, but you grab your stuff anyways. You look out the doorway as you follow her path where her long legs had already gotten her halfway down the corridor. You call out to her.

 

“But Dr. Ziegler only gave me an hour before—...” 

 

“I won’t say it again,” she cuts you off. 

 

You know if you don’t accept the offer it won’t present itself again, you’re too drawn to Moira, too curious to know what she’s like behind closed doors to deny it. So you run after her, trying to catch up with her steps. You follow close behind, you shamelessly allow your gaze to drift to her form. The way she walks is proper, her shoulders straight, her head held high. But there’s a hint of something else, like she’s aware you’re staring or something. So she might have walked with more confidence that day. 

 

When you arrived at her lab you followed her straight in; the door sliding shut behind you startles you. 

 

Moira doesn’t catch the little gasp you make and you’re relieved.  

 

You look around the room, taking in every detail you missed yesterday. The more practical things you didn’t notice before, like the colorful plants occupying the window sills, and the stack of old vinyls sittting beside a record player. Those were so rare, but it’s not like you hadn’t seen one before. Still it was shocking that Moira had interest in such ordinary things like music. You saw her as such an ethereal individual that it was difficult to comprehend her engaging in normal behavior. 

 

But you were amazed by it, you were fascinated with her, with everything she did. What refocused your attention was the aroma that suddenly filled the room. You turned to Moira who had been toying with some buttons on a small screen. 

 

She catches you staring. 

 

“I find it more efficient to work witch aromatic air. This one is lavender.” 

 

You breathe in deeply, the scent fills your nostrils and it’s dizzying. But it’s heavenly and it relaxes you. 

 

Moira is now at a desk filled with test tubes and things alike, the sight is charming. She’s leaning down, hands getting to work almost instantly. 

 

She beckons for you.

 

“Simply standing there whilst science in ensuing is quite foolish, dear. Observe.” 

 

Your mouth parts and your eyes widen. You feel honored and a fresh wave of admiration spills over you. You find yourself absentmindedly following her hand, for you’d obey anything she’d ask of you at this point. 

 

——

 

 

Some time passes after listening to Moira speak passionately about her work and studies. You’re sure she’s filtering out most of the confidential parts and even speaks them in layman’s terms for you, but that doesn’t nullify the affect it has on you. She speaks like a lecturer, feeding you fact after fact of uninhibited knowledge. It spews from her like it’s second nature, and you’re in a trance. Her intelligence has you blown away. Not to mention  _how_  she articulates. 

 

Her hand motions accentuates her words and her face is strong and focused. 

 

When she tells you to try something you comply, somewhat nervously but ardently still. 

 

She has you pour some substance into a beaker. You’re leaning over the table to reach, for your limbs don’t extend like Moira’s did. When you pour it, the colors shift and it’s beautiful. It’s replicating a rainbow, you think, and you’re in awe. 

 

Moira definitely appreciates your willingness and enthusiasm. She seems content with your reaction as you look over your shoulder back at her. 

 

“I think that’s just the coolest thing ever,” you say as you’re placing the tube back in its holder. 

 

You hold the beaker where the solution lays and swish it around, really amazed by the small show of the beauties of science. 

 

As you back away from the table, you brush against the doctor, far too intimately and the contact makes you jump. In doing so you end up in her lap, and you’re frozen. 

 

Every hair on your body stands attention and you feel like any sudden movement would result in something dire. You want to turn and face Moira but you know you can’t. You alternatively want to get up and run for dear life, but the long pale hand that sits to rest on your thigh says no. 

 

Your breathing is labored and the feeling of Moira’s body pressed against yours makes heat shoot in between your legs. You feel Moira lean her head down near your neck but she’s not yet touching it, merely ghosting over. 

 

“I didn’t catch your name,” she whispers and the feel of her breath against your skin is enough to send a throb straight to your core. 

 

You bite your lip in an attempt to control yourself, you feel panicky but at the same time  _excited_. 

 

“(Y/n),” you blurt out. “It’s, (y/n).” 

 

She hums, and you know she’s just eyeing you up from behind. Probably studying the way your hair falls to the side and the way you’re trembling at her scrutiny. 

 

“A lovely name,” she tells you. 

 

Something forces you to stare at the time, maybe it’s the nerves eating away at you. Or the dangerously low chuckle that tears from Moira’s throat. You realize it’s five minutes passed the end of your lunch break. Your heart tugs because you do not want to disappoint Dr. Ziegler or take advantage of her generosity, but at the same time your body wants you to stay with Moira, needs to find out where the situation would lead. Unfortunately, your consciousness is too loud and you find yourself rising from the woman’s lap. The loss of heat is troubling.

 

“I-I’m sorry, Moira,” her name feels natural rolling from your tongue. “Dr. Ziegler is waiting for me, I have to—“ 

 

“Go then,” Moira interjects rather curtly. 

 

“I’m aware Angela doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she adds. You turn and find the courage to face her. You ponder briefly of the history the two must’ve shared.

 

She’s still sitting down, her hands were now correcting the misalignments with her tie. Your brows furrow when you can’t read her expression. 

 

“Can I see you again?” You ask, a hopeful spark in your voice.

 

“If you wish.” She replies indifferently. “I don’t usually finalize my work until the wee hours of the night.” 

 

You nod, while gathering your things. You stop before making your exit. 

 

“Maybe I’ll stop by before I leave tonight?” You say but it sounds more like a question of uncertainty than a statement. 

 

Moira blinks slowly, like she didn’t care either way and that disappoints you. 

 

“Grand,” she breaths. 

 

You reluctantly leave Moira’s lab and think about her while walking back to Angela’s office. You feel bad because Moira seemed genuinely disheartened, betrayed even. Like you had chosen Angela over her. But it wasn’t that way at all. You tell yourself you’ll make it up to her. You make it your mission to visit her before you leave tonight. 

 

——

 

 

“Overslept?” Angela’s bright face greets you as you enter the room. 

 

You consider whether lying to her is the best thing right now. You wouldn’t want to divulge the time spent with Moira when you should’ve been sleeping. 

 

You laugh awkwardly. “Ah, yeah. Sorry about that, doc.” 

 

She forces eye contact with you, but not threateningly. More like she was concerned. 

 

“Well, you do look a lot more rested. It did wonders for you, I see,” she said with her smile so genuine. 

 

You felt guilty for lying to her, but you would’ve felt a lot worse watching her face drop when you’d have told her what you were actually doing. 

 

“Yes, thanks again for allowing me that little break,” you sigh. ”It was nice.” 

 

Angela’s eyes twinkle and she’s beaming. “I’m very glad, (y/n).” 

 

“Now, don’t be expecting a nap break on the regular, this was just a one time thing. Think of it as a display of  _mercy,”_ she laughs to herself and it’s adorable. 

 

You want to just hug her but you refrain, so instead you give her a big smile. “Of course, Angela. I wouldn’t think of it.” 

 

She grins at the unfamiliar use of her name. 

 

“You’ve finally got the hang of it,” she claps, and you decide you prefer being on a first name basis with her. 

 

She leaves you to your work, as you do to her. Like yesterday, your ministrations go by like a dream. This time you’re giddy and feeling hopeful. You’re excited to see Moira later, and you pray you didn’t spoil her mood before. 

 

It’s ten o’ clock already and you stay a few extra minutes passed just to make it up to Angela. Just like Moira, she doesn’t retire until later. She tells you to get home safe and sleep well as you grab your coat and other belongings. 

 

You thank her and tell her not to work too hard. She laughs and insists it isn’t possible. Regardless, she thanks you in return and you finally leave. 

 

You make your way through the now quiet, empty halls of Overwatch. You’ve never stayed after hours before, and you feel a growing excitement from it. Your breath quickens and your heart rate picks up. You’re taking long strides to Moira’s lab, your hair bounces with each step. You think about her, her sharp cheekbones, her bright orange mane. Her voice, her laugh, her smile. It’s enough to endure the long walk from Angela’s lab to Moira’s. 

 

Now a few feet away from her door, you’re nervous. Still eager but apprehensive nonetheless. 

 

You figure thinking too much about it would discourage you and you’d end up walking home instead. So, you sucked up the nerves and walked through the lab door. The swish alerts you, as it always does, and as you step inside a different smell greets you. 

 

It’s still an enjoyable scent but it’s not lavender. As you whiff you recognize the vanilla undertones of it. It makes you smile and your mouth waters. 

 

Moira is sat at a different station than usual, her hand is ruffled in her hair and she looks stressed. You bite your lip because you don’t want to intrude or add to whatever is troubling her. Uncertainty is plastered on your face now, but you don’t want to leave. 

 

She turns to you and her face shifts, it’s comforting to know she’s at least pleased to see you. She’s got her lab coat on again and you think it looks so good on her. You’ve thought it before, but you can’t deny how hot it makes her look. 

 

You're tugging at the hem of your sweater, unsure of how to proceed or if even you should move at all. 

 

She solves your inner dilemmas for you when her slender finger beckons for you. 

 

You move the moment she wills it, and you’re by her side in a few seconds. 

 

She stands, towering over you, you only just barely reach her bust. 

 

You stiffen as her hands grab your arms and guide you to the edge of the table. You’re half sitting, half standing on it as she traps you with her glare. 

 

“Why are you here, (y/n)?” she asks you, her voice low and demanding. The way she says your name forces a gasp from your lips. She braces her hands on the sides of the table, next to where your legs rest. 

 

You swallow hard. You can’t decide which eye you want to stare at so your gaze flickers to both interchangeably. 

 

“I said I’d come back,” you whisper. You know you look frightened, but her body so close to yours has you a mess. 

 

She tries to read your face, she almost growls. 

 

“Yes, but  _why?”_  

 

Her stare is unyielding and you can’t look away. Your eyes are staring back just as intently, and you think to yourself:  _Why?_

 

There was no logical reason, not really. It seemed pathetic now, for the rational side of it all came into play. You’d only known Moira for about two days now, and you both are nothing alike. She has a good two decades over you and she’s a fucking geneticist, and you an assistant. A little girl even. 

 

But, you’re  _drawn_  to her. So ridiculously, wretchedly infatuated with Moira that it’s maddening. You want her to know that. 

 

“I...” you struggle to speak with the way she’s hovering over you. So close you feel her breath, you think you hear her heart pounding, but it could just as easily be your own. 

 

“I want to be your distraction,” you utter. It’s not what you wanted to say but you think it’s enough. It’s partial to the truth, you did want to distract her. You could be the outlet she clings to when she’s stressing too hard. You could feel her tension as soon as you walked in the room. 

 

Her mouth twists and her ginger eyebrows knit together.

 

 “Oh, (y/n). Sweet girl,” she speaks in a voice that coaxes a ripple of wetness to soil your underwear. You can only focus on her moving lips. 

 

“What if I told you that  _you_  were the source of my stresses?” 

 

You instantly feel a burden once more and hastily apologize. 

 

“What? I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t know...” you trailed off as a hand came to your lips. She hushes you with a single finger, and with that same finger she plays with your bottom lip. 

 

“You present yourself to me, so obedient and pliable,” she purred. 

 

“From the moment you came to me, you were so eager to please.” 

 

You let her pull your lip down and molest the flesh with her finger. She taps against your bottom teeth and you comply, allowing her entrance. You lap at her finger, gently and languid. She chuckles harshly, and dark.  

 

“You’re a willing little lab rabbit, aren’t you?” 

 

You let your dignity scathe away under her words. You agree with them, they’re brutally honest. All you want to do is surrender to her, submit to her. Your pussy throbs against the garment that constricts it and you’re wet. Soaked, the desire pooling uncomfortably against light fabric. 

 

“ _Moira..._ ” you manage, nothing more than a mumble. 

 

She bares her pearly white teeth, they’re sharp and perfect. 

 

“I was...uncertain whether you would be willing to be my little experiment, but when you arrived tonight...” she waits for your reaction and you deliver a whimper as you anticipate her words. 

 

“I knew you were  _mine_ ,” she whispers in your ear and her breath, just as much as her words, elicits a cruel shudder from your body. 

 

Her hand rakes up your leg, firm and selfish. 

 

You were lost, lost to lust, to sheer desire. You were left practically panting for it, you needed her bad. 

 

“Make me yours,” you plead. Breathless and desperate. You repeat it again, eyes shutting and she can’t resist you. 

 

She finally brings her lips to yours. Yours searching and frantic, hers calm and forceful. You open your mouth without her asking, welcoming her tongue with viscous enthusiasm. You feel her smile at that and you know she enjoys your compliance. 

 

You tangle your hands into her hair, it feels just how you imagined it. Soft to the touch, thick and rich. You tug at it, not too hard but enough to convey your needs. 

 

She lifts you fully on the desk, easing your legs to spread apart. She fits herself in between them and you naturally drape your legs around her inviting waist. The kiss is fervent and hot, your moans audible when your mouths open. You’re being loud, but you don’t care. If anything, Moira is encouraging it with the way she’s gripping your thighs, your breasts. 

 

You break away to breathe, your face is warm and you’re aware of the flush that’s staked its claim over your cheeks. Moira’s eyes are dark pools of lust and it excites you tenfold. She’s making quick work of your sweater, clutching at it and pulling it over passed your head and arms. She doesn’t bother with your bra, and instead shoves it down for quick access to your breast. A hunger flickers on her expression before she dives in, capturing your hardened nipple between her teeth. 

 

You gasp and arch into the touch, wanting more of that stimulation. And Moira’s is all too eager to deliver. She’s nibbling at first, then she runs her tongue over it. Her mouth is hot and feels so divine against your sensitive bud. She pays the same attention to your other breast with doubled efforts and you have to try really hard not to rub away the insistent throb underneath your pants. 

 

You need to feel your skin against hers so you hint at this by tugging timidly at her lab coat. She pulls away, not abruptly but slowly. A smirk plays at her lips as she shrugs off the coat, she throws it to drape over a chair behind her, obviously having no desire to let it touch the floor. She rolls up her sleeves, but doesn’t seem to have the intention of taking off her blouse. 

 

She leans in to kiss you, and you meet her lips again. You unfasten her tie and pop open a few buttons from her shirt, which she allows. But she stops you halfway by grabbing your wrists. 

 

She guides them to your sides and squeezes them. 

 

“No more of that. Keep them there,” she orders. 

 

You whine a bit, but you accept it once her lips move to your neck. 

 

Your hands seek something to grip so they make do with the edges of the table. You have to hold tight because the force of Moira’s kisses on your neck threaten to make you fall back. 

 

Moira’s undoing your pants now and she doesn’t even have to look down. Your button is undone and next is the zipper, the sound makes you bashful and you’re shying away from her affections. 

 

She takes that moment to push you down flat against the cold surface. You wiggle out of your pants as she tugs them down. The flats you were wearing slide off your feet in the process. Your underwear is of white lace and it catches Moira’s attention. She hooks a finger under the strap hugging your hips. 

 

“ _Stunning,_ darling.” 

 

Her compliment makes your heart swell and you emit the girliest of giggles. 

 

She grabs hold of your legs and pulls you to the end of the table so your knees are dangling off. She lowers herself over your abdomen and licks gently at your heated skin. She sucks now, throwing in a bite every now and then. The bites hurt, but she quickly eases away the pain with tender kisses. 

 

She lifts your legs up to bend and your feet curl at the edge of the table. She leans down letting her cheek run against the length of your thigh. She then places kisses there, alternating between your left and right leg. 

 

You find yourself with your eyes shut and your chin to the ceiling. Each kiss that Moira graces you with, gets closer and closer to your pussy. You find yourself bucking at the contact; It’s hard to think, hard to breathe. You almost straddle her head with your thighs, but strong hands keep your legs at bay. She forces them down to the table, giving you a knowing look. 

 

“Now now, behave yourself.” 

 

You bite back a moan and nod furiously. 

 

You craned your neck to stare at Moira and she’s reaching for your underwear now. 

 

“What a good girl, you are.” 

 

The praise is enough to keep you sane, for now, as you teeter on the brink of manic lust. You’re dripping, you can feel it. It may not be visible through the sheer fabric of your lace panties, but it’s there and it’s warm and oozing. 

 

Moira peels the garment from your skin, your legs follow the gesture. There you are, bare before her eyes. Your pussy glistening and raw all for her. She breathes deep, almost like she’s trying to contain herself. She stares far too long only for you to become self-conscious. You try and shut your legs but she doesn’t allow you. 

 

“I’m merely admiring, darling. No need for the diffidence,” she coos, caressing your leg reassuringly. You squirm from your impatience. 

 

“Come now,” she finally says. “Let me have you.” 

 

You move down as much as you can without falling off the table. This particular scenario reminds you of your visits to the gynecologist, with a very pornographic twist. You inwardly roll your eyes at your crude comments, and Moira meets your movements. 

 

She dips her head after what seemed like forever, and you feel the first swipe of her tongue against your slit. 

 

“ _Oh_ ,” you half gasp, half moan. Your hand goes to cover your mouth and as Moira lavishes your lips again you moan against your fingers. The muffled noise catches her attention and she looks up to you. She doesn’t even need to say anything for the look alone conveys what she wants. You promptly remove your hand and settle for your breasts instead. She’s satisfied and licks you some more. 

 

With every roll of her tongue against your folds, you find yourself becoming closer and closer to your climax. It’s building quicker than you can keep up with but Moira’s too skilled with her mouth. She’s lapping up and sucking at your clit, the pressure makes your eyes flutter and your mouth part with silent screams. The way she takes you, claims you, how she  _devours_  you sends you spiraling into a frenzy of tremors and delicious spasms. Your orgasm is close, Moira knows this. You tell yourself that she’s a doctor and can easily read the human body better than you can read the back of you hand. Knowing that a certain skilled and efficient partner is working her way between your legs is enough to drag you over the edge. 

 

Moira doesn’t make a sound as you come, a flood of release, your fluids coating her mouth and chin. You moan her name as your body contorts. She doesn’t even let you drip as she laps up the mess she’s made of you. 

 

Your arm is draped over your face, your limbs feel spent. Your body feels drained, but in the best possible way. Your legs are weightless and one is lazily sprawled across the table while the other dangles off from it. 

 

Your lungs rise and fall as you stare passed them to where Moira stands. You watch her use your sweater to wipe her face clean and you twitch. You don’t say anything though because you think she’s earned that right. She did just fuck the life out of you. 

 

You sit up and place your bra over your breasts and your straps back over your shoulders. Moira assists in dressing you before you can object, not that you really would anyway. 

 

You don’t put your underwear on because they’re basically ruined, so you put your pants on bare. But not before Moira provides you with a cloth to wipe yourself with. 

 

You don’t bother with your flats, not yet. You sit there, legs curled to your chest as you watch Moira redo her tie and attend to her shirt’s disheveled state. 

 

She clears her throat. 

 

“Don’t worry about reciprocation, if that’s what you’re pondering on about.” 

 

It’s like she’s in your head, anticipating your every move, every reaction. But you most certainly wouldn’t be opposed to servicing her, oh no. In fact, you really wanted to. 

 

“Are you sure?” You ask, rather bold of you. 

 

You watch her with a compassionate stare and it pulls a look from her. 

 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t, dear.” 

 

You wish she had been more open with you, but you weren’t going to complain, especially after all she did for you. 

 

You respect her wishes and hop off the table. Your bare feet come in contact with the cold floor and it sends a pleasant shiver through your form. 

 

You slip your feet into your shiny black flats and Moira puts her lab coat back on over her slender shoulders. She fastens the front quietly, her gaze to her fidgeting hands before lifting her eyes to you. 

 

“Do you have anywhere to be at this hour?” She queries, any normal person would have been hesitant with such prodding questions but Moira was... well,  _Moira_. 

 

You shook your head, your hands placed politely to the small of your back. 

 

“Besides my bed? Nope, I do not,” you meekly reply. 

 

And Moira smiles. A real smile, not a smirk, not a sneer. But a genuine display of her content. 

 

“Lovely,” she says. “Join me for the remainder of the evening, will you?” 

 

You think you might cry from joy, you’re overwhelmed with the proposal and your face lights up. Your hands are cupped under your chin and Moira laughs at this. 

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” 

 

She makes her way to the old record player and flicks on the one already stationed. She places the needle, steadily, over the vinyl and it begins to spin. You watch it move until your hearing is filled with foreign singing. 

 

You assume it’s an Irish symphony and it sounds beautiful. 

 

You look again to Moira with so much adoration in your eyes you’re afraid she’ll become unnerved. But she simply hums along to the melody and you feel safe here. Never would you have avowed this claim, yet it seemed so  _right_. 

 

You stayed there, you were attentive and you were polite and accommodating. Moira praised you often for it. You did so until your weary little body slouched over in exhaustion and you could barely keep your eyes open.

 

You felt a hand gently caress your hair and you sighed into the touch. This was a sign from Moira letting you know it was fine to sleep. So you finally gave into your fatigue. 

 

It was a few years later where she repeated the gesture to you, as you stood beside her, tears rolling from your trembling cheeks. You begged her to stay, you pleaded. You had stuck by her every step of the way, but the Talon organization was where you drew the line. And she respected you for it, but her studies were far too important, too full of potential to be contained. She told you this, she told you Overwatch always held her back from achieving great things. Overwatch never gave her anything worth while she told you. 

 

You stared at her, she petted you with a clawed hand. Her eyes gleamed less in those moments, they didn’t carry the spark you remembered them being bathed in. She corrected herself. 

 

The only good thing Overwatch gave her, she said, was  _you_. 

**Author's Note:**

> ayy you made it. 
> 
> Moira is so hot and I'm so extremely gay so there's that. 
> 
> check out my tumblr if you can ---> property-of-moira-odeorain  
> come say hi or even leave a fic request! xx


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